I just wanna be your Superman
by Mayhem junkie
Summary: A funny piece, featuring a dumb but lovable Clark...


I Just Wanna Be Your Superman

Clark sat on top of a table cluttered with various adhesive objects, including tape, glue, and pins that were dangerously close to his posterior. But he was paying no attention to any of it because his concentration was elsewhere.

Namely, the small white button he was attempting to staple to the shirt that lay across his lap. When he only succeeded in breaking the stapler in half, Clark let out a very un-superhero-like curse. He got up and began scrounging around his unusually immaculate apartment, looking for anything that would hold the buttons on.

He began muttering to himself as he searched, "…should learn to rip the shirt off and keep the buttons on…costing me a fortune to replace…"

Clark sighed and flopped down in his favorite chair.

And promptly sprang back up again, holding the aforementioned posterior. He rubbed the sore appendage as he glared at the seat of the chair to find what had stuck him. There-a tiny glint of silver. He bent and plucked the needle out of his chair. Clark was about to toss the offending item out the window when a memory happened to surface.

Old Mrs. Maker from two apartments over was the last one to sit in that chair when she had come over to borrow sugar yesterday. She had sat herself down and sewed with the needle while he got her the sugar.

Clark snapped his fingers and thought to himself 'I have it!'

He had made his way into the kitchen and pulled out the sugar bowl before everything clicked into place (hey, he's Superman, not a genius). Clark gave a doubtful glance to the needle he still clutched between two fingers. Did he think he had it in him to reattach the button to the shirt by sewing it on?

No, but he was Superman, and he never gave up.

Besides, it was worth a try before running to the store for duct tape.

Clark went back to the chair and found that yes; Mrs. Maker had left some thread as well. He went back to the table where he had left the pile of torn shirts and sat down again, this time seeing the pins and moving them a safe distance from himself. His posterior still throbbed from its last encounter with a pointy object and he did not want to repeat the experience.

Clark unwound a good large section of thread and stuck one end at the blunter end of the needle, completely missing the loop. He tried again, slower this time, and made it, but the string fell out as soon as he moved. Two more attempts later, he had the needle threaded and had even had the forethought to knot the end of the line. All in all, Clark was very proud of himself and allowed himself a moment of celebration for his accomplishment.

But he did not dance. Superman does not dance, so neither does Clark.

After his moment (in which there was _no_ dancing), he picked up the needle and thread, found a button, and stuck the needle into the cloth near where he thought the button should go. Clark was pleasantly surprised when he was done that the button did not immediately fall of. Grinning largely to himself, Clark selected another button and went back to work.

Sewing was so easy for Clark, that he got all the button put back on a shirt and had time to find his favorite purple and orange striped tie before heading out to work. All the way to work, Clark was pleased to note all the looks he was getting from those he passed.

'Must all be amazed at my affinity for the needle!' Clark thought to himself and puffed out his chest some. He was also proud of his other colossal accomplishment of using his calendar's word of the day-_affinity_.

Not that he was quite sure what it meant, but he patted himself on the back none the less.

Clark walked into his building, turning with an enormous smile on his face as the doorman gasped.

"Mr. Kent, Sir? Who sewed your shirt?" the doorman's eyes were wide.

'Most likely with envy for the quality of my shirt,' Clark thought to himself, then decided not to rub it in the poor man's face.

"I did it myself, thank you."

'Well, not _too_ much…' Clark thought as he turned again and made his way to the elevator. When it arrived, Clark stepped in and admired his handiwork in the reflective back of the elevator doors. Blue dress shirt, bright yellow thread, a wonderful array of buttons…


End file.
